The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting

by Angela Marsons

  Fran did not want to go into detail. It wasn’t distant enough yet to laugh about and still caused her to cringe inwardly. Had she still been drinking it would have been one more memory to be drowned amongst the others. But she wasn’t so she had to face it.

  She had instigated it, no doubt about that. From the outset it was a mission to prove that she enjoyed sex with men and Keith was very attractive too.

  She had invited him back to her flat for a drink and had acted like a complete idiot when they got there. Her hopes for her sexuality had been increased when the feel of his lips against hers had been pleasant enough in an undemanding way. His tongue on her neck had made her want to collapse in giggles and when his hand ventured inside her shirt it had produced an automatic physical reaction but no enjoyment of it. Further attempts to infuse the moment with eroticism crumbled when they had both realised that his lack of an erection together with her lack of inclination was unconducive to good sex.

  ‘Bloody hell, Fran! How much proof do you need? Even you have to admit that the jury is unanimous on this one.’

  Fran nodded her agreement and started the car.

  ‘You know you have to go back, don’t you?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘I can’t. I’m scared, it’s not real,’ she cried.

  ‘Fine, go back and prove that to yourself. Be in the same room as her, talk to her and prove there’s no attraction.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fran whispered.

  Kit got out of the car and leaned down on the open window. ‘You’re only hiding from yourself, Fran,’ she said softly as she began to walk away.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Fran as Kit reached the door. She turned. ‘Knock him dead, I’ll be waiting for your call.’

  ‘Same here,’ Kit replied with a smile as she hurried into the building.

  Fran found herself driving back towards the salon, just one more look. She just wanted to see that face one more time.

  The lights of the empty salon shone brightly from between darkened windows either side that were closed with the finality of the weekend. As she watched, Martine materialised before her eyes: tidying the workstations, putting the last few things away. Fran blinked hard. Was the woman a figment of her imagination? Had she wished her image to appear? She looked again. No, Martine was definitely real. The churning sensation in her stomach confirmed it.

  Fran watched for a moment. The brightness of the salon against the darkness of its neighbours made Martine a solitary, lonely figure, pottering around the illuminated area. She watched the lithe movements and tried to commit them to memory for later and felt something she’d never felt before. It was a need that had lain dormant within her all her life and had been awakened by this woman. It was the vital ingredient that had been missing from all her previous relationships: it was a connection.

  As though sensing she was being watched, Martine’s eyes turned towards where Fran sat. Fran saw the intense eyes glance her way, although she knew that Martine could see nothing, looking into the darkness from a lit room.

  Fran was tempted to drive away, but she couldn’t. Twice her fingers rested on the ignition key. The third time she turned it and pulled it out. An invisible force that had nothing to do with the early evening breeze pushed her out of the car towards the salon. She had to know for sure.

  She opened the door and stared straight into the eyes of a face that was more beautiful than she remembered.

  Martine stepped backwards. ‘Frances, but…?’

  ‘I had to see you,’ Fran offered, as if that explained everything.

  Martine struggled to gain her composure. ‘I wondered if you would come back.’

  It was not a question and Fran was unsure how to respond. She knew she should say something about London.

  ‘I’m sorry for the way I acted.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Fran recalled that there was very little small talk with Martine. Attempts at idle comments with no meaning were met with questions. All words have a reason, or they wouldn’t be, Fran recalled Martine saying.

  ‘It was obviously what felt comfortable for you.’

  Again no question posed. No reply required. This form of conversation forced Fran to examine her feelings and admit them. Her legs felt shaky. She slid into the chair that Kit had occupied earlier that day.

  ‘I was scared,’ she offered.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Myself,’ Fran admitted.

  ‘Have you never been attracted to anyone before?’

  It was hard to think with Martine so close. She thought she had but she’d never felt like this about anyone.

  ‘Not like this.’

  ‘Do you mean because I’m a woman?’

  Fran realised she would get no easy ride with Martine. She raised her eyes bravely. ‘Yes,’ she said honestly.

  Martine turned away from her and placed a hop cone into boiling water for her favourite drink.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  The shift in conversation startled Fran. She’d been on the verge of admitting her true feelings and Martine had turned away. She tried to hide her confusion.

  ‘If there’s nothing else, I have to carry on,’ said Martine with an edge to her voice. Fran felt as though she was being dismissed even though there was unfinished business between them.

  She cast a lingering look at Martine. ‘I’ll go if that’s what you want.’

  Her trembling legs carried her unsteadily to the door. She wanted to leave; she wanted to stay. Her right hand met with the cold perfection of the brass handle.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Fran heard the small voice and sighed with relief that she hadn’t been allowed to leave.

  ‘You just bother me.’

  Fran turned. The sentence was unlike Martine, who was normally so precise with each word. Martine looked right back at her with an expression of honesty and determination rolled into one.

  ‘Your fear of your feelings makes me want to apologise for who I am, for what I am.’ The piercing blue eyes suffused with emotion. ‘And I’ve never done that, for anyone,’ she added forcefully.

  Fran moved towards her. ‘This is new to me, Martine. In London I was drawn to you and I didn’t know why. As soon as we met in the gallery I felt something. After spending time with you I didn’t ever want to be without you again. I’ve never had these feelings for anyone in my life.’ She was begging Martine to understand. ‘All these years, all the failed relationships, which were pleasant enough and filled a gap, it never occurred to me to question why I wasn’t happy. The way you make me feel terrifies me. Not only because it causes me to question so many things about myself, but the sheer force of it.’

  Fran couldn’t stop. All the thoughts that had tormented her now spilled out of her mouth. ‘Those days in London were the first time I ever connected with anyone. I felt that the world could swallow me there and then and that was okay, because you were with me.’

  Fran leaned back against a work surface, unsure what it all meant.

  ‘I do understand, Fran. I’m scared too. I seemed to know everything about you even before you spoke. When I saw you today I was thrilled that you were here. I thought, no hoped, that you’d come purposely to see me. Then I saw the shock on your face and knew it was purely accidental. It hurt. I understand how hard it is, but I know who I am, Fran, and I know how I feel, but this is new to you and I won’t push you.’

  Martine reached across the space separating them and took Fran’s hand. The touch sent a shock through Fran’s whole system. It felt right and with an honesty that surprised her, she realised that she wanted more.

  Martine made no move towards her but caressed her thumb lightly. ‘I have to go away again for a little while. How about spending a little time together when I get back? Go out, stay in, whatever. No pressure, no expectations and…’ she shrugged her shoulders with an understanding smile ‘…just see what happens.’

  Fran happily nodded her agreement. She left the salon with the im
print of Martine’s hand wrapped around hers. As sure as she was of the sun rising in the morning, she knew that something was destined to happen between them.

  11

  Kit

  Her disappointment was not as acute as it should have been, Kit realised, replacing the receiver. From the gregarious background noises, barely muffled by his hand over the mouthpiece, it was obvious Tyler was somewhere that he did not want to leave. Her disappointment was due more to the fact that she felt good and thought that maybe she looked good. She smiled wryly at her reflection in the mirror. Well, maybe not fabulous but definitely different. She would have got away with it tonight, she knew she would.

  Cashmere cardigans and satin wraps would have viewed her differently, decent men instead of prospective punters might have let their gazes linger on her a moment as they idly surveyed the restaurant. They might have done if she’d been able to go out.

  She tried to analyse her feelings, still reluctant to remove her new image. She didn’t blame Tyler, it sounded like a good party and she wasn’t sure she’d want to leave it either, though she couldn’t help being a little irritated at the lame excuse of his father’s birthday. He would have known about that when he asked her out. No, the problem was that she wanted to be seen. She felt like she was a kid dressing up in her mum’s clothes, eager to show someone how grown-up she looked. It was almost like a test. Could she dress like this without being laughed at and ridiculed for the fraud that she was? Well, she wasn’t going to find that out tonight, she thought, heading towards the bedroom to change into jeans and a jumper. The entertainment was definitely going to be of the paperback variety.

  The knocking at the door made her jump. She ignored it, knowing it would probably be her next-door neighbour’s father, an elderly man who was constantly tapping the wrong door. The heavy knocker sounded again, louder and more forceful. Strange, she thought. He usually realised his mistake after the first knock and the frail little man who brought his son two cans of beer every Saturday night did not have the strength to knock that hard. She slipped her shoes back on and opened the door.

  Mark caught his breath at the vision that greeted him. Perfectly applied make-up created the impression that she wore none except for the deep red that coated slightly trembling lips. A soft, sleek black helmet that ended untidily on her eyebrows had replaced the tufty backcombed style. The sides, which were deceptively long, tucked neatly behind her ears with an inch of length showing below.

  He swallowed hard as his eyes registered the black stockings that encased the shapely legs fitted into high-heeled stiletto shoes. Just above the knee began the flowing material of a black dress that gathered in at the tiny waist. The top half of the dress rose up tantalisingly over perfect breasts and met in a halter-neck.

  Mark’s throat was dry. ‘Umm… excuse me. I’m here to see your flatmate. Er… jeans, jumper, leather jacket, you can’t miss her. Can you tell her I’m here? Actually, on second thoughts, don’t bother!’

  He saw the surprise in Kit’s eyes harden. ‘Come in, if you want to,’ she said, walking away from the opened door.

  He followed her inside as she sauntered with a walk that caused the flimsy material to caress her calves. A walk that could make grown men cry.

  Her reason for looking this way occurred to him. ‘Going out?’ he asked, shortly.

  ‘Supposed to be but I got stood up at the last minute.’

  Mark didn’t trust himself to ask by whom. He wasn’t sure he could remain impartial. In fact, judging by the angry monster eating away at his stomach lining, he knew he couldn’t.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ he said, unable to tear his eyes away from the length of her slim, firm legs.

  She turned and the expression in her eyes rendered him immobile. Hurt and accusation filled every inch between them.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  He had known that his actions a few days ago had hurt her. He had wondered if he could gloss over the episode and pretend it had never happened. He could lie and claim that he’d just been having a bad day. He could name any one of forty problems jostling around his head but Kit was too intelligent to be placated with a banal explanation.

  Should he tell her about the sleepless nights he had spent tossing and turning, chased by the memory of her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking lost and confused? Should he confess the weakness that had coursed through him upon seeing the assured woman who had walked through the door? Would she believe the hurt he had felt when she finally admitted that she didn’t need him any more? Could she understand the despair he felt each morning he woke up knowing that she wasn’t close by?

  ‘You looked too good, too confident, too…’ His words trailed off as he realised that the thought that had been so full and meaningful in his mind sounded pathetic in the open air.

  ‘You blanked me because I looked good?’

  ‘It was everything, the whole package. You looked different.’

  Mark saw the changing emotions flitting through her eyes and he knew that he couldn’t do this to her. She was on her way to getting everything that she’d ever wanted. She was finding independence and finally getting to live her own life. He couldn’t burden her with his own selfish feelings. She had moved on. Clearly she didn’t need him any longer and he had no right to cling to what he wished could have been: she deserved better.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kit. It had been a shitty day, meetings with the accountants and crap that would bore you to death. I shouldn’t have been so rude and that’s why I’m here, to apologise.’

  Mark had the feeling that there was something more that she wanted to hear but she nodded her acceptance of the apology, which sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.

  ‘I’ll just go get changed.’

  ‘Why waste it? Let’s go out.’

  He waited for her refusal. He wasn’t fussy. He’d spend time with her on the rebound if that was the only way; he could sit and listen while she cried on his shoulder and he’d just be happy to be there.

  ‘You sure?’ asked Kit, reappearing. Mark’s breathing altered again. She walked with such confidence, such allure, that she was like a dark angel. A perfect vision but with hidden depths. And he wanted them all.

  She put on long drop earrings that accentuated the slimness of her face and exaggerated an already graceful neck.

  ‘You look… amazing.’ It was all he could think of to say to her. During previous conversations he’d never felt like a drowning fool. He forced his gaze away from the contours of the legs that he wanted to stroke and kiss and feel linked around his back. He tried to force himself back into the old Mark. More so now than ever it was obvious that she’d moved on.

  He barely spoke as he drove to a little restaurant on The Water’s Edge, a new canalside development. Lights lined the canal walkway. The reflection that bounced off the water magnified when the slight breeze brushed above the gentle ripples. Houseboats were moored at various points along the edge.

  The restaurant was dimly lit and reeked of expense. Mark was aware of the silence between them but barely trusted himself to speak. She didn’t look like Kit, he wasn’t sure she even sounded the same, and he didn’t know how to talk to her. The subjects of their conversations to date did not fit the woman before him. She was not the woman he’d spent hours sitting at the kitchen table reliving her nightmares with. She was not the broken-spirited sparrow that he’d held when the sleep demons had caught her. It was all wrong, yet it was so right. He wanted to turn the clock back for his sake, take her back to the hostel, where she would be his Kit again.

  ‘Nice informal place you picked, Mark,’ commented Kit as they were shown to a table.

  ‘Oh yeah, you’d really fit in at McDonald’s,’ he said, meaning her attire.

  ‘I don’t fit here.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he said meaningfully.

  She blushed and averted her gaze to the menu. He laid his own menu down on the table.

  ‘Do you have any
idea how many men in this place are distracted by your presence? And how many women are exasperated by their husbands’ lack of attention?’

  ‘You’re just trying to make me feel good.’

  Her gaze swept the room and met with the sea-blue eyes of a good-looking man sitting alone at the bar. Yves St Laurent shirt with Gucci trousers signalled he was seriously ‘on the pull’. Mark watched as the man’s eyes found Kit’s, held and flirted for a moment. Kit demurely returned her gaze to the menu. Mark saw the interaction and hated it. He had no idea how much longer he would be content to be her friend.

  ‘My, they do some clever things here with potatoes!’ Kit observed.

  Mark glanced disinterestedly at the assortment. He couldn’t think about food, only Kit and her nearness. Although they weren’t touching he could feel the heat from her legs so near to his own beneath the table.

  Kit settled on a salad of new potatoes, lobster and truffles. Mark agreed. As far as he was concerned anything would taste like roasted cardboard.

  ‘Mark, what’s wrong?’ Kit asked.

  He knew he was making her uncomfortable; he could even feel the frown that was forcing his mouth down but he was powerless to stop it. This wasn’t the Kit that had needed him, relied on him. This was a strong, grown woman with a mind of her own. She could have any man in the room.

  ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled.

  Kit threw her napkin on to the table. ‘Christ, if it’s so boring being here with me, piss off! I know it’s only a mercy mission but if you didn’t want to take me out, you bloody well shouldn’t have offered,’ she stormed. ‘I feel like a can of beer at an AA convention, for God’s sake!’

  Suddenly his phone sounded. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he apologised, as he left to answer it.

  Mark called the hostel to find out that it was not an emergency and could be sorted out easily enough over the phone. As he re-entered the main restaurant he saw the Greek god who had been perched at the bar sitting in his seat leaning towards Kit.